


The Way to Heaven is paved with Good Deeds

by Sylla_Headhunter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Early Timeline, Fluff and Angst, Good Lotor (Voltron), Healthy Lance/Lotor (Voltron), I need good Lancelot so I create it damn it, M/M, Slow Burn, will update tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylla_Headhunter/pseuds/Sylla_Headhunter
Summary: As Lotor is trying to do his father's command justice and annex the planet Darushan to the Galra Empire, he stumbles across a boy with Altean markings on his face - something he never thought he'd see again. And even though the boy is hardly useful to him, he cannot resist to try and save him from the cruel fate he is surely to suffer when he is found by someone else from the empire. Little does he know that he will lose and gain more in this process than what he bargained for ...





	The Way to Heaven is paved with Good Deeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yin_n_Yang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yin_n_Yang/gifts).

> My wonderful friend is very sad bc the Voltron fandom decides to give her almost as much bad Lancelot stuff as I get bad Keitor stuff. So my mission is to make her happy again and write good Lancelot stuff without Lotor being a manipulative asshole towards poor Lance.

The first time Lotor sees him, he almost makes it past him without fully understanding what exactly it is he can see.

The boy is small, scrawny, he might say, and he blends in well with the masses around him, a species with vaguely humanoid bodies and delicate bones, almost his entire face hidden behind a massive scarf in a rather ugly gray. It is only when the ever present wind on Darushan unrolls the monstrosity, leaving the boy scrambling for it with wide, exaggerated movements, that Lotor notices the faint markings on his higher cheekbones and his pointed ears, distinguishing him as something far rarer and more precious than anything he has seen so far on this planet at the edge of the new empire the cryostasis has spat him into.

He is Altean.

Young enough, or maybe not talented enough to hide his identity – Lotor knows that the Alteans of old had the ability to shape-shift, knows it because he himself has latent powers coming from his heritage as well – and apparently all alone on this soon to be colony of the Galra Empire. Something hitches in his throat. The consequences for the young one are going to be dire, even more so than his own if he gets discovered and if Lotor managed to do so in a split second …

He moves before he can even stop himself, striding after the boy with enough haste to not lose him in the crowd surrounding them, but trying to appear casual to the eye. It will do both of them no good to see him, the prince of an empire he never wanted, sprint after a stranger he just saw for a moment. He needs to keep a low profile – for his sake, and the boy’s. Especially for the boy’s.

It takes him almost forty doboshes to even come close to the Altean – he is faster than he looks and he keeps glancing over his shoulder warily, apparently expecting enemies to come for him around every corner. Lotor’s lips curl into a smile, both sad and appraising. He hasn’t seen him yet, a clear sign at just how inexperienced the boy is, since he has been following him around for so long now, his intentions carefully veiled behind an impatient mask of someone trying to clear this area as fast as possible without bumping into everyone on his path. If he were a Galra soldier … he cuts himself short, not wanting to think about his own fate at the moment. He has to focus on this survivor of the one race his father had wanted gone from the universe.

And so Lotor quickens his pace after the small boy who has just rounded a far away corner of the market, his feet almost silent against the bare darushan soil. The small alley is devoid of anything remotely human – even the small back he had been following just a tick ago. Lotor blinks once, twice and almost jumps as he feels something cold and sharp press against his left knee pit, his instincts telling him to eliminate the danger at once. A low growl tries to escape his throat but he swallows it down decisively.

“Why are you following me?”  
The voice sounds even younger than he had thought possible, a musical lilt to it he cannot help but appreciate. Slowly, as not to startle his aggressor, Lotor turns his head to the small Altean crouching next to him, his back pressed against the crude wall and his eyes, a piercing, swirling cerulean blue, regarding the prince with a quiet determination he can’t help but admire. There is fear as well, lurking behind feelings left to mask it, and it strikes his heart without warning.

“I do not mean to harm you.” He keeps his voice steady, a quiet hiss just loud enough for the boy to hear him over the distant buzzing of the market place behind them. “I was following you because I was afraid you had garnered unwilling attention by anyone hostile towards you … or your race.”  
The boy snarls at that, a weak attempt to mask the terror Lotor sees unfold across his features. He fights the sudden urge to place his hand on the boy’s head, knowing it will do the opposite of what he wants to achieve.

“Apparently, I already did that, because _you’re _here. You’re Galra, aren’t you?”  
“I am”, Lotor replies readily. “Although my intentions were never to harm you. This place will soon be turned into a colony for the new Galra Empire”, he can’t help but add his own rebellious thinking to the sentence, wondering if the Altean boy will pick up on it, “and your presence here will be compromised sooner rather than later, if even I was able to see you as what you are.”  
The boy blanches at the new information and grips his knife even tighter, the blade ever so slightly trembling in his grasp.

“H-how do you know that?”, he manages to get the words out from between his teeth and Lotor sighs, moving his leg just slightly out of reach. He does not feel like getting stabbed by a small boy like this who can’t control his own hand due to stress and terror.

“I know this because I have been sent here with orders to annex this planet to the ever growing empire. It is my wish to work with the Darushans in peace, forming a treaty that will be beneficial to both sides, rather than let a whole culture perish under my command.”  
The small figure goes absolutely rigid, pressing itself even further into the wall behind him.

“Your … command?”, he croaks, and Lotor nods, schooling his features into a calm mask. Honesty is of the essence lest he startle the poor boy even further but he needs to tread carefully.

“Indeed. I managed to take command of this precise mission to ensure the treaty be formed with both sides signing it willingly.” It is the truth, he reasons, although not everything. It does help in getting the boy lowering his knife just a bit more, his eyes still blazing with too many feelings to name them all. Lotor accepts his new room to maneuver around gracefully, stepping away from the boy to give him space – and quite frankly, to get away from his knife. He does not want to feel it again, maybe arousing his instincts this time, and actually hurting the boy in the process.

The Altean continues to stare at him until Lotor decides to break the silence with a small, decisive cough, startling the other one so badly, his back collides with the wall again. Lotor sighs under his breath.

“I do not wish to harm you, as I already stated. I wish to warn you of the possibility that your true identity might get compromised in the near future. Do you have any hope of getting off this planet before the next few quintants?”  
He expects a negative and he gets it, a hesitant and ultimately resigned shake of a small head. What he does not entirely expect is the slight squeeze the gesture brings to his heart, the tinge of regret on his tongue. He doesn’t want for the small one to be found by Galra Soldiers and brought before his father – simply because he doesn’t want him to experience pain and a suffering far too great to be put into words. This small Altean boy can no doubt not help him with his mother’s experiments, is most likely not an alchemist – he doesn’t seem to possess any sort of greater knowledge as far as Lotor is able to judge him – and does not seem likely to be able to tell him more about the other half of his heritage. And yet, he can’t bring himself to abandon him in this empty alley way, on a planet so far from his initial home he must feel unearthed and lost, worse so than Lotor himself.

And so he stretches out his hand, dark purple in contrast to the boy’s soft brownish skin, and tries to school his features into something less neutral. More welcoming.

“I wish to help you, young Altean. Come with me, and I will do my utmost to hide you from the Empire’s many eyes.”

The boy stares at him, his eyes taking on the color of the sea Lotor once saw on a distant planet. A soft, disbelieving smile curls around his lips, letting him seem even younger in comparison to the scowl he had worn earlier. Still, there is hesitation in his eyes, mistrust, and Lotor can’t blame him. He just waits, gripped tightly by a feeling he cannot put a name to. He waits, until finally, slender and calloused fingers grip his own, softer than his hand but nonetheless hiding a strength he can only feel after the boy squeezes his hand just a bit.

“I don’t trust you”, he clarifies and lets go again, his eyes firm.  
Lotor nods. “I do not blame you for a lack of trust.”  
The boy mirrors his movement and inclines his head to one side. “But you are willing to help me, even though I don’t trust you. Yes?”  
“Precisely.”  
A long pause, in which Lotor almost fears the boy might turn him down despite his gesture, might disappear and turn up later, bound and gagged for the witch’s druids to prod him until he delivers his race’s secrets even without knowing them. He wills his face to remain a patient mask, praying that he manages to do so without arousing the boy’s suspicion even further.

“Lance.”  
He blinks. “Excuse me?”  
The boy, his head still cocked to one side, scoffs. “My name is Lance”, he repeats, slowly this time. “I thought you might want to know who you’re helping. If you still want to, that is.” He actually lowers his knife a fraction more and Lotor can’t help but let his lips quirk into a small, satisfied smile.  
“I do. It is nice meeting you, Lance.”  
The boy – Lance – scoffs again but nods, before looking at him with those eyes quizzically.  
“And your name is?”  
“My name is Lotor”, he replies haltingly, waiting for Lance to put two and two together, recognizing him as the prince he is. He doesn’t. He just nods again and pushes himself away from the wall he had been leaning against. Finally standing next to him Lotor notices that Lance is in fact not so much smaller than he is, with his head barely grazing the prince’s collarbone. He is either big for his age, or maybe Lotor’s presumptions were wrong from the start – he has to admit that he knows little to nothing about the growth rate of Alteans from the ancient books he has managed to read about them. He will have to ask Lance once the boy feels more secure by his side.

“Alright. Lotor.” Lance still looks at him warily, but Lotor doesn’t mind it, is in fact glad about the fact that the Altean boy is not stupidly trusting in a stranger he has just now learned the name of. “Lead the way.”  
Lotor inclines his head towards him and sets an easy enough pace back to his quarters, Lance trailing behind him. He has no actual idea how to conceal the boy from his own men but he will make do as he always has – with his wits and imagination forming a plan as he walks past the market place, swerving right to arrive at the battle cruiser he had flown here with.

****

Lance regards the tall man next to him with quiet apprehension. He is a mystery to him – he doesn’t look like the monsters his father had told him about, the monsters that raided their home planet and destroyed it in a matter of doboshes. He looks rather … handsome. His features are sharp and defined, his hair long and silky looking, flowing in the slight breeze that encapsulates the planet he is currently on. He looks … calm and reserved.

Which makes him all the more dangerous, Lance decides, trying his best not to shake his head.

Lotor – he tries to remind himself of the name given to him – seems nice but what if he is not? What if this is all a grand scheme to bring him, Lance, an Altean, into the arms of the empire?  
He is not going to let that happen to himself. He has heard enough stories to know the terror that strikes him to be true. He would rather take his own life than risk being taken prisoner.

Lotor is quiet as he leads him to a ship and Lance almost recoils at the side of it, an ugly smear of purple, but Lotor just waits for him, patiently, until Lance manages one step. And then another. Past those sentries that Lotor doesn’t even glance at. Past a few deserted corridors, until they finally make it to a door Lotor opens with a few quick numbers punched into a keypad. The doors glide open and reveal a large room, big enough for a bed and a table with a chair standing next to it. Lance gasps and, for once forgetting his fear, scuttles past Lotor to throw himself on the bed. It bounces him right back, earning a blissful moan.

Lotor watches him with an amused tilt to his head and Lance feels himself grow red.

“It’s been a while since I had a bed, you know?”, he pouts, snatching one of the pillows and drawing it to his chest. “And it’s so _soft_!”  
“I am pleased to hear that.” Lotor’s voice is still insufferably amused and Lance bites back on the impulse to stick his tongue out to him. He sticks with pouting once more but Lotor’s expression has turned more serious, his yellow sclera suddenly more pronounced as if they had visibly darkened.

“This ship is occupied by galra sentries and very few actual soldiers. You should take care not to run into them while you explore – I do not wish to contain you to this small room but I also do not wish for harm to come upon you. Do you understand that?”  
  
Lance feels himself scowl. “I’m not a _child, _Lotor, of course I understand. I’ll be careful, alright?”  
The other man seems slightly taken aback but with his carefully neutral expressions, Lance can never be quiet sure. He could also just be constipated in general. The thought makes him almost snicker.

“Very well. Do be careful. I will leave you the code to your door – I suggest you learn it and destroy the note afterwards.” Lotor places a small device next to him on the bed and Lance can’t help but flinch back slightly. The other one doesn’t seem to notice. “I will leave you now. Should you be needing me, this device will help you contact me. Try to keep your communications through it to a bare minimum though, lest it be exposed together with you.”  
There it is again, that condescending attitude, and Lance loses the fight with his rational thoughts and his impulses, sticking out his tongue as far as he can manage. “Sure, _dad_”, he grumbles, not realizing the deeper shade of purple that overtakes Lotor’s face, before swaddling himself in blissfully soft blankets. The silence surrounding him is only breached for a few ticks as Lotor quietly leaves the room, closing the door firmly behind himself, leaving Lance to ponder the strange day he had today.

Rescued by a Galra … the thought makes him snort. How very strange indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> So as you can see, I decided to set this piece (which was originally supposed to be a one shot - a ONE SHOT I tell ya!) far, far ahead of the original timeline - this is before Lotor was even exiled. I have no idea if I can manage to write this thing as far as them meeting the paladins of Voltron atm but if I DO, remember to light a candle for me and my valdi efforts of writing way too much at the same time, thank you
> 
> Feel free to scream at me via [tumblr](https://syllaheadhunter.tumblr.com/)


End file.
